


The Man of Many Names

by FutureAlien



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uther Hunith and Morgana are mentioned in passing, also canon dead charcter, but apart from that just sweet things, i guess?, sorry for bashing the starbucks all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureAlien/pseuds/FutureAlien
Summary: Merlin tries on some different names. Arthur is confused, but endeared.Modern Coffee Shop AU!





	The Man of Many Names

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuntG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntG/gifts).

> This fic is for the birthday of the lovely AuntG, who has been commenting on my other story with so much kindness and love. Thank you for being so sweet and supporting, I hope you have a lovely year, and that it is filled with silly fluff and happiness xx
> 
> This is kinda based on a very true, very embarrassing moment in my past week. RIP my dignity.

Merlin shouldn’t have been surprised that the Starbucks was so crowded. After all, it was situated right next to the university campus, and there was no small abundance of students in dire need of an esspresso shot these days before the finals. Still, he hadn’t considered that before he went in. All his mind could focus on were the pumpkin spice lattes finally being sold again, which was why he had foregone his visit to the small Italian shop he usually got his coffee from, and decided to treat himself to an exceptionally expensive and no doubt disappointing cup of Starbucks.  
Half an hour later, he was still waiting for his name to be called. 

Okay, disclaimer: not his actual name. The coffee he had ordered was on the name of Gerald, for no actual reason. Although, there were plenty of reasons to invent. For example, Merlin didn’t like to see his name butchered, or to get tired looks from baristas who thought he was pranking them. And in fact, he didn’t like that he had to give out his name at all, what in this age full of privacy infringement and surveillance. He knew that it was very unlikely that the sixteen-year-old straining to make his teeth-shattering excuse of a coffee would sell his personal data to the main office, but he still didn’t like to take the risk. And then there was the whole thrill of pretending to be someone else for a moment, to see if the girl taking his order would believe this silly, useless lie, even though she had absolutely no reason to assume he would lie over something as meaningless as a name. 

Most of all, though, he just thought it was fun. 

So he waited, silently snickering in himself at the prospect of someone shouting the name Gerald, and Merlin responding to that. Hey, he was having a hard time. He deserved this little spark of joy.  
As he stood waiting, Merlin let his gaze wander over the other people in the shop. He saw the girl who had ordered before him was still waiting too, and she shrugged and smiled as she saw him look, as if to say ‘we’re going to be here for a while longer’. The other customers were mostly students, but a few lost tourists and professors mingled in the small crowd. Merlin could see an old man getting impatient, tapping his fingers on the counter with a rhythm increasing in speed. His heart went out to the poor people working in this place, juggling cups and little pitchers of steaming hot liquids, trying to concentrate under the scrutiny of the waiting line and the overflowing pile of orders. 

Funnily enough, it was the hair that made Merlin recognise him. The crown of golden locks was unmistakable, even though it had been many years and the man’s back was turned to him, working on mixing some ice cubes with syrup and milk. 

Merlin blinked a few times. He must be mistaken. Arthur Pendragon would never lower himself to work in a coffee shop.

The man turned around, and Merlin sucked in a breath. The last time he had seen Arthur, they had both been in primary school. Arthur had been the popular one, the athletic boy with the rich dad and the promising future, but he had taken a strange liking to scrawny, cheeky Merlin. Merlin could still remember all the times they had played together, climbing trees and playing video games on the enormous tv in Arthur’s room. Their games usually ended in horsing around until Merlin’s mother separating them, her stern voice unable to disguise her fond gaze. They would usually go to Merlin’s house, if only because Hunith didn’t like the idea of letting the little rebels roam around the Pendragon estate without an adult to supervise their adventures. 

It had been fun, Merlin remembers with a little smile. They had been friends. 

Of course, they hadn’t been the best of friends. Arthur had too many friends to play favourites, and Merlin already had Will, who he had known almost since birth. And when primary school had ended, their paths had separated, whisking Arthur off to some private boarding school while Merlin stayed in their own little town. Merlin vaguely recalls crying as Arthur said goodbye, but that had been all. They were kids, and they were too young to stay sad for long. And so Arthur had been forgotten except for on lonely nights, when Merlin racked his brain for any memories of kindness. And until he saw this man in the Starbucks.

Merlin still couldn’t say it was Arthur, but he did look like it. The hair was the same, first and foremost. And the barista’s eyes were the same piercing blue as his old friend’s had been. But then again, there were many men like that in England, and time had changed them all. Still, Merlin couldn’t help but search that face for familiar features, trying to ignore the fact that whoever this was, he was definitely Merlin’s type. Maybe, if it wasn’t Arthur, Merlin could pass him his number…

No. It had to be Arthur. Surely there were no other men with that same concentrated pout? But then again, this man was a barista. He was slaving away for lousy wages in an extremely crowded coffee shop, that sold drinks his father would consider poison. And Arthur was a rich kid who wanted nothing more than to please his father, no matter how scary and unkind Merlin remembered him to be. Arthur would not work in a Starbucks. He was probably the head of some law firm by now, or the youngest entrepreneur to exist. At the very least, he should be the manager of this place, not some barista foaming soy milk. 

Still, the likeness was uncanny. If only this man, Maybe-Arthur, would stand up straight. Then Merlin would be able to read his name tag, and decide whether it would make him look like a fool if he went over to say hi. Standing on the tip of his toes, he tried to cast a subtle glance over the coffee machine, grateful that the man was too absorbed in his work to see him stare. Finally, the barista righted himself, and a smile spread over Merlin’s face as he read the tag on his beige apron: Arthur.

“A pumpkin spice latte for Gerald?” another barista called. 

Hastily, Merlin reached for the cup she was holding out for him, mind whirring with ways to introduce himself to the man he had last known as a little boy, who had probably forgotten about his entire existence, and had also grown unfairly attractive in the decade spent away. 

As his hand closed around the cup, he dared to cast another furtive glance at his old friend, only to find Arthur staring right back at him. 

A smile trotted across the blond’s lips, and a shapely eyebrow arched.

Oh, fuck.

Making his way to the counter, Merlin tried to obscure the false name written on his cup with his hand. Maybe it wasn’t too late to pretend that he was a normally functioning human being.

“Hey Arthur, how are you these days?” he said, trying his best to sound casual, as if it had been mere weeks since they last met. 

Arthur stopped working, earning him an annoyed glance from his co-worker. He approached the little glass barrier separating them, wiping his hands on his apron. His smile got bigger, and Merlin could feel the happiness he had always felt at that grin jump up and out and into the open. 

“I’m good,” Arthur said, and though he looked somewhat ragged and exhausted up close, Merlin knew he meant it in this moment. “What are you doing here?”  
Merlin pointed outside, in what he thought was the general direction of the university. “I study at Avalon these days. Biology, mostly, with a minor in history.” He took a tentative sip from his drink, letting out a happy sigh at the sweet taste. “How about you?”

“I work here,” Arthur answered. 

Merlin chuckled. “Yeah, I figured that. But are you doing anything else?”

It was a stupid question, he knew as soon as he had spoken the words. If Arthur had been studying too, he would undoubtedly say so. Indeed, Arthur’s face hardened, and he shook his head slightly.   
Great. Merlin had fucked up big time, and now Arthur would forever think of him as a giant douchebag. Merlin took a big gulp from a coffee, and then immediately felt guilty for that too, for underlining the fact that Arthur was technically working for him right now. The coffee was scalding hot, and he tried his very best to look dignified as his oesophagus burned. But he must have failed somehow, because Arthur was smiling again, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I should to go back to work,” he said, and Merlin nodded, because of course he should. “But I guess I’ll see you again?”

“Nah, now that I know you work here I’m never coming back,” Merlin teased him.

“Whatever,” Arthur said, though he did look slightly pleased. “Have a nice day, Gerald.”

Merlin could feel his cheek flush well into the lecture.

***

The next time Merlin came by, he called himself Momus. Arthur wasn’t there.

***

The third time Merlin went back to that Starbucks, Arthur was there again. He shot a look at the cup bearing “James” and laughed.

***

Merlin went again soon. He missed the Italian coffee, and his wallet was taking a hit from all the expensive drinks. But he saw Arthur again, and that was worth every expense. He learned more about him – that he lived close by, and that he had Wednesdays and Sundays off, and that he was considering going back to business school coming fall. He learned the names of his housemates, and how Morgana was doing, and that Arthur missed her sometimes. Over the little barrier separating them, Merlin told him how his mother fared, and where he was working. He complained on days university became too much to handle, and shot encouraging smiles when Arthur had to work again. 

They didn’t speak about the things Merlin really wanted to discuss – about why Arthur worked here, and why he never mentioned his father anymore. Their conversations were short and shallow, most of the time, hounded as Arthur was by the customers in line. But even those little moments between them soon became the highlight of Merlin’s day.

***

A few weeks later, when Merlin returned to the coffee shop after some days of absence, he spotted Arthur standing behind the register for a change, taking the orders instead of making them.  
He could see the exact moment Arthur noticed him – the way his face lit up, and that mischievous twinkle entered his eyes. Merlin felt his heart do somersaults.

“How can I help you, good sir?” Arthur asked, his referential tone undeniably ironic. “Another pumpkin spice?”

“You know me so well,” Merlin smiled, and Arthur wrote on the cup. “Wait, hold on!”

“What? We both know you want whipped cream, you sweet tooth,” Arthur said, marker hovering over the cup.

“What name did you write?”

Arthur stared at him in disbelief, which quickly turned to resignation. “I wrote ‘Merlin’, Merlin,” he deadpanned. 

Merlin tutted and shook his head. “That’s not my name, Arthur.”

“Yes, it is, Merlin. Now, do you want anything else?”

“My name is…” Merlin tried to think of something, the more ridiculous the better. There was nothing that made him happier than driving Arthur right to the brink of insanity, after all. “My name is Emrys.”

“…”

“What?” Merlin asked innocently. “I can spell it for you if you like. It’s E-M-R-Y-“

“A Y? How do you even come up with this nonsense?” Arthur was trying his very best to sound annoyed, but Merlin could see a small smile starting to form as he crossed out the name he had originally written, and scribbled down ‘Emrys’ instead. “I’d want to ask you why you do this, but I don’t think I actually want to know the answer.”

Merlin looked over his shoulder. When he saw that there was no one waiting behind him, he leaned on the counter and smiled languidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been called Emrys all my life.”

“Have you now?” Arthur asked, passing on the cup to a barista. “I distinctly remember your mother referring to you by ‘Merlin’, but then again, she always was a little strange. “  
Merlin couldn’t help but laugh at that. Normally, he would defend his mother’s name against even the slightest suggestion of imperfection, but this was Arthur. Arthur, who had been raised to be rigidly polite to any adult he met, but would leap right into Hunith’s arms when she offered a hug. Arthur, who would remember her birthday, and make sure to bring a present for her the next time he came by. Arthur, who had come to Merlin and his mother first, when he learned his own mother was going to die, talking and crying with them deep into the night, as Hunith warmed milk for him and promised him he’d always be welcome in their home. Even now, more than a decade later, a softness washed over Arthur’s face as he mentioned Merlin’s mother, and Merlin knew he loved her still. Arthur loved Hunith just as much as Merlin did, even if he hadn’t seen her in years. Even if he was completely right in saying that she was a little strange.   
“You’re right,” Merlin said. “The boy you knew was called Merlin.”

Arthur looked genuinely confused at this statement, so Merlin hastened to finish his statement, lest Arthur think he was actually serious.  
“I am Merlin’s twin brother,” he said, trying his very best to keep a straight face.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m pretty sure I would remember it if there were two Merlin’s running around the place. I would have lost my mind, for example.”

Merlin hummed noncommittally. “No, you wouldn’t. They hid me in a closet for the first decade of my life. They’re not as nice as they look, you know?”

Arthur laughed, then uttered under his breath: “Same, actually.”

Oh.

Was that what Merlin thought it was?

Judging from the way Arthur was refusing to make eye contact, it seemed that he had indeed just come out. After Merlin had made some stupid joke because he wanted to put names that weren’t his own on coffee cups. Gods, what a mess.

And now there was a new customer coming in, and Arthur turned to them with his chippy fake customer-service voice, and Merlin was left waiting for his coffee to get prepared while trying his very best to think of ways to react to this. He needed to, and he needed to do it right. 

Because Arthur was gay, or bi, or whatever. Arthur wasn’t straight. Which meant that all the time Merlin had spent trying to convince himself that there were no flutters in his stomach every time he caught a glimpse of that golden hair, that all that desperate effort to avoid catching feelings for this boy that was in every conceivable way perfect to him, that all that had been for nothing. Because Arthur might like him back. And even if he didn’t, they could bond over this. Merlin could support Arthur, and he knew the other man needed that, maybe even more than he needed a partner. After all, it did make sense now why he was a barista. Uther Pendragon might have raised his son to take over his business one day, but he was also the kind of man who would throw that all overboard over something Arthur couldn’t even control. A bout of anger flared up in Merlin as he thought of that sour, rotten man, and the way Arthur used to look up to him despite it all. He looked at Arthur, with his sweet smile and strong shoulders, with his sense of right and a determination to follow his heart. 

How could anyone fail to love him?

So, when Arthur had handled the orders, and Merlin had received his coffee, he walked back to his friend. 

“I know it might sound weird, but I feel like the fact that your manager is looking over your shoulder all the time puts a bit of a strain on our conversations,” Merlin said, and Arthur chuckled, nodding.

Bolstered by this, Merlin went on. “And though I do like coming here, there’s a little Italian place around the corner that has much better coffee than this crap,” he said, taking a satisfied sip from said crap.

“Maybe if you ordered actual coffee instead of syrupy milk-“

“Anyways,” Merlin ignored him, smirking at Arthur’s offended spluttering, “maybe we could have some coffee there, sometimes.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed, and Merlin marvelled at the adorable shade of pink tinging his cheeks. “But only so I can prove you wrong. I have a multi-billion-dollar employer to defend.”

Merlin nodded sympathetically, though the effect might be somewhat abated by the manic smile he could impossibly suppress. “Everything for the job.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Arthur smiled. 

Happily, Merlin turned to leave. He would have to get out of here soon, so he could jump a hole into the sky like his heart was urging him to. 

Behind him, he could Arthur call him. “Ehh.. Emrys?”

Merlin turned around to find Arthur fumbling with his pen and motioning for his cup. “I think I forgot something on your order.”

Confused, Merlin handed him the cup, and Arthur started to write-

Merlin knew he shouldn’t be overreacting, but he was sure that he could face the whole world right now. And when Arthur handed him the cup back, it felt as if its warmth came from that beautiful boy’s hands, rather than the coffee. 

Arthur handed him the cup back, his phone number written in shaky hand, and Merlin wanted to kiss him right there. He wanted Arthur to look at him with that same shy, flustered look forever.

“I’ll call you, then,” he said instead, and Arthur nodded.

“I would like that, Emrys,” Arthur said. “Though I still like Merlin better.”


End file.
